


Let Your Heart Be Light

by ElamMM



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, OTP Feels, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-19 21:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4761422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElamMM/pseuds/ElamMM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let Your Heart Be Light: A Hawkeye/Margaret story. This story takes place after MASH ends. It's almost two years after Goodbye, Farewell & Amen. Everyone has had their own challenges with fitting back into life, but Hawkeye and Margaret still haven't adjusted. Together, they rediscover what it means to truly live life to the fullest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I've wanted to do a piece for MASH for a really long time, but have never gotten around to it until now. Hawkeye and Margaret are obviously my OTP for life...I mean, does your OTP hold the record for longest onscreen kiss?**

 

_Let Your Heart Be Light_

**_Chapter 1_ **

 

     “No, thank you, Ellen. I have quite a lot of housework to catch up on tonight.” Margaret Houlihan straightened an IV pole.

     “Are you sure? I know a lot of the girls would love to see you come out.”

     “I’m sure. Thank you for the invitation.” Margaret smiled at fellow nurse Ellen Foreman and moved on to her next patient, turning down yet another outing invite and being a head nurse all at the same time. She was busy straightening bedding on a newly empty cot when another voice spoke to her.

     “Quite a slow day today, wouldn’t you say?” Charles Emerson Winchester III smiled softly at her, an expression that she returned.

     “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this.”

     It was probably the thousandth time those words had left her mouth. They worked for everything, though: her giving up the Army for civilian life, returning home after Korea, moving to Boston to work alongside none other than Charles Winchester, and being a nurse in the pristine Boston General Hospital.

     Charles glanced behind his shoulder at the retreating form of Ellen Foreman. “It does take a while,” he agreed. He chose to ignore how many times they’d had this conversation. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and slipped his hands inside his coat pockets, trying to decide how to tell her what had been on his mind for a long time. “Margaret, you know that I appreciate you accepting my offer to work with me.”

    Her surprised eyes flickered up to his from folding a sheet corner. “Yes.”

    “And, if I may say, civilian life has done wonders for you.” It was true. Margaret Houlihan had taken to civilian life like a fish to water. “But, I must confess that I am…worried about you.”

     Her brows knit together. “What do you mean?”

     Charles sighed, taking her arm and leading her out into the quiet hallway where he could speak louder. “Margaret, it’s been almost two years since Korea.”

     “I don’t know why you’re bringing that up.” Even as she said the words, a prickling blush climbed her neck and settled into her cheeks and ears.

     “Yes, you do know why. Ever since you began working here, you’ve not neglected one detail of your job or made a mistake. But something about you has changed. Aside from myself, you don’t attempt to make friends with fellow nurses or doctors. You rarely accept offers to get a drink after work or join co-workers for a meal, and I don’t believe I am wrong in assuming that the only social conventions you attend are the ones which I insist you accompany me to.”

     “That’s—”

     “I’m not finished. You look like the same Margaret Houlihan, but something inside you is different. And, forgive me, not a good different.” He held a hand up when she tried to interrupt again. “In our time in Korea, withdrawn was never a word that applied to you. Now, it applies all too well.”

     She huffed. “I’m not depressed, Charles.”

     “Not quite depressed, no. But not quite yourself. I can see sadness in your eyes sometimes. When you think no one is looking, I can see you remembering, and I know I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Case in point, Nurse Foreman.”

     “What does she have to do with anything?”

     “Margaret, she approached me a few days ago asking what was the matter with you, citing that you were distant and sometimes got a—how did she put it?—‘a lost look in her eyes.’”

     A twinge of offense shot through her chest. “Well, if she thinks I’m so distant, why did she invite me to dinner with the other nurses?”

     Charles gave a hard sigh. “Because I asked her to, Margaret, mistakenly thinking that you would accept. I thought you would recognize that a night out with other women might be good for you.”

     “How would you know what’s good for me?” The old Major Houlihan anger was beginning to spark, and Charles could see it—oddly, it comforted him, in a way. At least her real self was still in there somewhere. “Why can’t you just mind your own business?”

     “As I said, I’m worried about you. I am reprimanding myself for not asking you outright sooner, Margaret, but…are you doing alright?”

     “I’m fine,” she fired off immediately, a knee-jerk reaction from years of keeping things inside.

     “No, you most certainly are not!” Charles threw his hands up in exasperation as his ire finally began to leak out of his self-control. “There is something wrong when you seem to have been happier at a human butcher shop ten thousand miles across the planet!”

     Margaret was stunned at his words, but they had most definitely struck a chord that rang like the clearest note. The truth hurt sometimes. “I…” she sighed, long and sad. Her next words were nearly a whisper. “You’re right, Charles. You’re right.” She sank into a nearby chair, dropping her face into her hands. Charles took the seat next to her and tipped his head to stare at the ceiling. He counted the rotations of a fan as he waited for her to speak.

     “I just feel so guilty for feeling this way,” she murmured. “It’s not that I want to go back—I’d rather die than go back to that…to that cesspool.” The last words were hissed with renewed venom, a glimpse of just how badly she’d hated the war shining through the cracks in her armor. “But…I…I just miss…” Charles listened. Her silence was louder than anything else.

     “You miss the people,” he finished for her. She nodded. In her downcast gaze, he could see something shining in her eyes, something that she was trying to conceal yet wanted to be seen, like a bright star hidden behind a cloud in the night sky. A longing that he had seen in her eyes before when she looked at one particular person. Charles lightly put his hand on her knee. “It’s mostly Pierce, isn’t it?”

     Margaret’s throat tightened at the mere sound of the name; tears burned the back of her eyes. Instinctively, her hand slipped inside her pocket to finger the heavily-creased photograph she had carried with her ever since she got back stateside. It was a photograph of Potter, Klinger, B.J., Winchester, Hawkeye, and her, all crowded inside a Jeep, laughing. It had been taken a day before they had all found out that the war was ending and that they would be going home. In the space of a fraction of a second, Margaret allowed herself to remember.

_“Move over, you hairy buffoon!” Winchester growled to Klinger, who was half-draped over the irritated Major._

_“I’m tryin’, Major, but Colonel Potter still needs room to get in!”_

_“Play nice, Winchester,” Potter gruffed, climbing into the crowded Jeep._

_Hawkeye rolled his eyes, reclining further in his spot and laying his arm across the back of Margaret’s seat. “Klinger didn’t call after their date last night,” he stage whispered. B.J. and Margaret laughed and Charles growled again._

_“Oh, shut it, Pierce.”_

_B.J. gasped dramatically. “Why, Charles! You know he’s sensitive to the tones you use!”_

_Winchester grumbled unintelligibly._

_“Alright, Padre! I think we’re all in the saddle!” Potter called. Father Mulcahy adjusted his grip on the camera, grinning._

_“Okay, everyone. I need you to smile…someone tell a joke.” There were a few beats of silence before Margaret thought of exactly what to say._

_“Frank Burns!” she blurted out. Immediately, everyone in the overcrowded car exploded into laughter, Hawkeye’s cackling guffaws standing out above all the rest. Mulcahy chuckled and pressed down on the shutter, a satisfying “click” freezing the lighthearted moment forever._

     Margaret rubbed her thumb over the most worn spot on the picture: the place where Hawkeye’s body leaned into hers as they both pitched forward from laughter. Charles watched a small, sad smile twist her lips.

     “See?” he said gently. “I can tell you’re thinking about Korea. You smile that miserable smile every time you remember.” There was a rustling noise as she pulled something out of her pocket—a photograph, he realized. The expression stayed on her face as she looked down at it, the memory replaying all over again. Above all, she could hear Hawkeye’s laugh, a distant echo ringing in her ears.

     “We were the only two to be at the 4077th from the time it was built to when the war ended.”

     Charles pulled his brows together. “Klinger and Mulcahy weren’t there the whole time?”

     She shook her head. “Not the whole time, no. Father Mulcahy replaced the original chaplain about two weeks in and Klinger came just under a month later, dresses blazing.” Charles chuckled, still gazing at the picture. He leaned back and fished into the pocket of his lab coat, pulling out a brown leather billfold and flipping it open to reveal a photograph of his own. It had been taken a few months after he’d been stationed at the 4077th. Radar, Potter, Hawkeye, B.J., Margaret, and Charles all stood in front of the famous signpost that Charles had just nailed “Boston” to; the hammer dangled from his right hand.

     “You know, Margaret, it’s not a bad thing to miss them. I do, too.” When she didn’t reply, he gently pushed at a different angle. “Have you tried to contact Pierce?”

     She glued her gaze to the ground. “I’ve tried before, but…I never know what to say.” There had been many times where she’d picked up the phone only to listen to the dial tone or hovered the point of a pen above a blank letter. Each time, she sat there for a few moments, fishing for words in the empty pond of her mind.

     Charles nudged her shoulder. “You should call him.”

     “No, no. He probably doesn’t want to hear from me, anyway. He’s probably back home with a flourishing private practice, not even thinking about Korea,” she reasoned, more with herself than Charles.

     “Margaret, I’m no expert in human behavior, but Pierce needed you just as much as you needed him.”

     “Then why hasn’t _he_ tried to contact _me_?” Her voice broke a bit.

     Charles met her eyes. “Perhaps he doesn’t know what to say, either.” He patted her leg and stood from his chair. “Go home, Margaret. Get some rest. I’m a little tired myself.”

     “Goodnight, Charles. And thank you for talking with me. I needed it.”

     Margaret watched him walk down the hallway until he vanished around a corner. She glanced at the photograph one last time and tried to swallow, but the lump in her throat made it hard.

 

* * *

* * *

 

     Charles rubbed the damp towel against his hair and tossed it in the hamper as steam rolled out of his bathroom. Tying off his robe, he sank into his plush armchair and dialed the phone.

     It rang three times before someone answered.

     “Hello?”

     “Good evening, is this the Hunnicutt residence?”

     “… _Charles_? Is that you?” B.J. was stunned. The last person he had ever expected to hear on the other end of his telephone line was Winchester.

     “Indeed, Hunnicutt. How have you been?” Charles found himself smiling. What he had admitted to Margaret earlier that day hadn’t been a lie—despite his efforts in Korea to distinguish himself from Pierce and Hunnicutt, he did genuinely miss their company at times.

     “My God, Charles! It’s good to hear your voice; your letters don’t do that blue-blooded accent justice.” Charles rolled his eyes. “I’ve been doing just fine. Working in a hospital that doesn’t practice meatball surgery really does wonders for a person. How about you? Margaret’s not being too rough with you, is she?”

     Winchester chuckled. “Glad to hear it. It truly is a miracle to be working in civilized conditions again. And, no, not at all—actually, Margaret is the chief reason I called.”

     Concern immediately filled B.J.’s voice. “Oh?”

     Charles had always admired how Hunnicutt didn’t pry; he simply waited to be filled in. “I’ll get to the heart of the matter in a minute. Have you heard from Pierce recently? I’ve gotten a few letters from him, nothing more.” He’d conveniently glossed over the fact that he had been in contact with Pierce since Korea when talking with Margaret. No need to make her feel as if Pierce was somehow leaving her out.

     “Yeah, I talked with him a couple weeks ago. We try to talk a couple times each month.” Well, perhaps Pierce _was_ leaving her out.

     “Does he seem…taciturn? Withdrawn?”

     A pause. “How did you know?”

     “Just a hunch. Has he explained why?”

     B.J. sighed. “You know how he is. When something’s bothering him, he’ll talk, but not really say anything. He started seeming withdrawn a couple weeks after he told me about the new woman he was going with, Arlene something.”

     Charles’s brows wrinkled. “Hardly like Pierce to be unhappy around a woman, especially one he actually cares for. When did they begin dating?”

     “Hawk told me about her several months back, but I don’t know if they’re still together. I haven’t asked and he hasn’t told.”

     Even though he already knew the answer, Winchester asked anyway. “Do you know if Pierce has tried to contact Margaret?”

     “I’ve never flat-out asked him, but I wouldn’t bet on it. Every time I bring her up, he just mumbles something vague and moves to another topic.”

     “Hmm.” Charles rubbed his jaw. “The reason I ask, Hunnicutt, is because Margaret is having the same problem as Pierce. She won’t make friends with the other nurses or doctors, never goes out when they invite her. I’m almost certain that the only times she leaves her apartment are when she works or when she goes out with Honoria and I.”

     “Really? That doesn’t sound like her at all.” B.J. scratched his head, beginning to feel worried for his friend. “Do you think it has anything to do with…?”

     “I certainly do,” Charles said with conviction. “You and I both saw their parting embrace. Friends hardly say goodbye in such a manner.”

     “Let’s not forget that their communication skills are legendary. They’d probably rather die than admit to themselves the cause of their misery, if they’re even aware of it at all.” Although about two thousand and seven hundred miles apart, both men grimaced at the same time. They sat in thought-filled silence before B.J. spoke again. “The question now is what do we do about this. If we leave it up to them to find each other again, they won’t even glimpse each other until the afterlife.”

     “Stubborn mules,” Charles grunted. “What about a reunion? We could invite Potter, Radar, Klinger, Mulcahy…everyone. Reunite to see how everyone has readjusted.”

     “Hey, that’s a great idea!” B.J.’s grin could be heard through the phone. “Only, where would we have it? Potter’s in Missouri, Radar in Iowa, Klinger in Ohio, Mulcahy in Pennsylvania, Hawk’s back in Maine, I’m over here in California, and you and Margaret are in Massachusetts. It’s like somebody sneezed us onto the map.”

     Charles thought for a moment. “Our safest bet would probably be to ask Colonel Potter. Missouri is close enough to the center of the map for it to be almost equal travelling time for those of us on opposite coasts. Radar and Klinger just get lucky.”

     “You’re probably right. And—hold on a second—” B.J.’s voice became faint as he held the receiver away from his mouth, “—what is it, honey? What? You’re _what_? Peg, darling, I can’t hear you. Oh! Okay, I’ll be right there.” He cleared his throat, pressing the phone to his ear once more. “Sorry about that. I’ll have to let you go, Charles, Peg hasn’t been feeling well for the past few days. Do you want to ask Margaret, Mulcahy, and Klinger, and I’ll ask Potter, Radar, and Hawkeye?”

     “Sounds as good an arrangement as any. Shall I check back with you in, say, a week or two?”

     “Absolutely.”

     “Splendid. I hope your wife feels better soon.”

     “Thanks. And, Charles?”

     “Hmm?”

     “It was really good to hear from you. Thanks for calling.”

     Charles smiled. “The pleasure was mine, Hunnicutt. Goodbye.”

     “’Bye, Charles.”

     B.J. placed the receiver back in its cradle, shaking his head and smiling. He found himself remembering the times when Charles would have rather walked through a minefield than talk to him or Pierce...found himself remembering when _he_ would have rather walked through a minefield than deal with Charles.

     “Daddy, Mommy’s throwing up!” Erin announced from the top of the stairs. B.J. was yanked from his reverie and sprinted out of the kitchen, rounding the corner and taking the stairs by twos, the sound of his retching wife getting louder each second.

     “Peg, honey? I’m coming! You made it to the toilet, right?”


	2. Chapter 2

Let Your Heart Be Light  
Chapter 2

“Dr. Hawkeye, am I gonna be alright?” Little Asa Pruitt turned the full force of his innocent hazel eyes onto Hawkeye Pierce, who held the six-year-old’s arm in his hand. Hawkeye couldn’t help but grin. Asa’s family had been the first to choose his new private practice, and he’d been entranced from the moment the boy had skipped into the office over a year ago. He finished rubbing some cream into the boy’s smooth, coffee-colored skin and removed his gloves, tossing them into the trash.

“You’re going to be just fine. It’s just a bit of poison ivy.”

Asa giggled. “Mommy says I got it ‘cause I didn’t listen and ran through the weeds.”

“Your Mommy is a very smart woman.” Hawkeye winked at Mrs. Pruitt, who smiled back. “Asa, why don’t you go out to the lobby and see Nurse Jane? I think she just refilled the candy jar…” he trailed off as the little boy’s excited squeal drowned him out. The child hopped off the examination table and tore out of the room. Hawkeye chuckled at his boundless energy.

“How’s he doing, Dr. Pierce?” Mrs. Pruitt asked when Asa was out of earshot.

Hawkeye scribbled notes down onto his clipboard. “The rash should fade in a couple of days. All in all, he looks fit as a fiddle.”

“You know as well as I do that he isn’t.” Her tone became gentle and hushed like she was disclosing a secret. Hawkeye stopped writing and nodded.

“How are his pain levels?”

“He still has bad spells every now and then. Sometimes he’ll wake up in the middle of the night, screaming and crying.” 

Hawkeye winced as sympathy stabbed into his heart. “I wish there was something I could do for him.” Asa’s mother smiled sadly, seeing the raw, burning flame in the doctor’s eyes. She knew next to nothing about Dr. Pierce’s past with the Korean war, but she would bet anything that the lurking rage in his irises had not been there before he’d been drafted. She rose from her chair and put a hand on his shoulder.

“From the moment we were told Asa had sickle cell anemia, we knew there was nothing to do but pray, Dr. Pierce. Have good day.”

“If he gets worse, let me know immediately, even if it’s the dead of night. You have my home number.”

Asa’s mother smiled again, the lips containing a genuine happiness that Hawkeye could not understand. “Thank you.”

Hawkeye remained in his chair, thinking long after the Pruitts were gone. Mrs. Pruitt troubled him every time she came in with Asa. Despite the fact that her son would probably die before she would, she had this…glow about her. A little flame of happiness that no wind in Crabapple Cove could blow out. And, damn it, he couldn’t understand how she did it. Here he was, thriving private practice with an expensive car and a healthy father who had already gotten all he wanted out of life when his son came home from the war. Here he was, making his dream of getting Crabapple Cove to say “ah!” come true. He had not one ounce of debt to his name and was the most recommended doctor within the entire state and then some. He had every right to happiness.

So why don’t I have it?

The question gnawed at him day after day, chewing his patience to a frayed ribbon. It hadn’t always felt like this. When Hawkeye first returned to Maine, he was the happiest he’d ever been in his life. But, as time went by, the change came gradually. He didn’t know what it was—or maybe he did, he was just refusing to acknowledge it. Whatever the case, he found the only bright spots in his life to be card games with his father and the monthly phone calls with B.J. He still gave his patients one hundred percent of his attention, but they no longer gave him the happiness he craved, and that terrified him. He was terrified that Korea had ruined the one thing he loved most: medicine. 

Hell, the war had spoiled everything else for him.

Hawkeye sighed and combed his fingers through his hair, which was getting long again. He felt like a slow kid on the playground who couldn’t keep up with everyone else, like he was being left behind. He was sure that the war was long past plaguing those who he had spent it with. B.J. was always his light and chipper self, but it was different. There was no edge of darkness, no hidden depression that had been under his skin in Korea. Charles seemed to be the only one transformed for the better. He had lost his ostentatious, blue-blooded approach to most matters and replaced it with the calm level-headedness of a kind man. 

“Hawkeye?”

The quiet voice jolted him out of his thoughts. Hawkeye’s head nurse—the best of the three at his practice—smiled in apology for startling him. Jane Able was a sweet young woman who could turn even her smallest sentence into a mile-long babble of extra information and had a heart of gold that loved even strangers. He flipped on the charm and sent her a grin, hoping to give the illusion of happiness. “What can I do for you, Jane?”

“I need to speak with you about something.” She looked uneasy.

“You’re declaring your undying love for me. Can’t say I didn’t see it coming, what with all the doe-eyed stares over patients in the exam room…”

“Hawkeye!” Jane scolded, laughing. Hawkeye’s grin widened; he may not be happy, but at least he could make others happier. Jane’s nervousness seemed to dissolve with his joke.

“No, no, I’m kidding. Alright, what did you need to talk to me about?”

“I…I, uh, I’m leaving.” At his confused stare, she quickly elaborated. “Not just to go home. I mean, I’m leaving for home, too, obviously, but I also mean I’m leaving your practice.”

Hawkeye was stunned. “What? Why? Did something happen?”

“No, nothing bad or anything of the sort. I’m moving to Texas to be with my fiancé. He is starting his own private practice with a few other doctors in Dallas and I’m going to be their head nurse.”

“Hey, that’s terrific! I hear there’s some really groundbreaking stuff happening in Dallas. New treatments, things like that.” Hawkeye was genuinely glad for her. He’d always seen Jane as the little sister he’d never had, with her awkward, endearing ways and shy acceptance of compliments. “We’ll miss you here, though. When are you leaving?”

“May 15th, just as summer starts.” Hawkeye sucked in a breath. May 15th was a mere three weeks away. Where was he going to find a replacement head nurse in such a short space of time? Jane grimaced, immediately contrite. “I know it’s short notice, and I’m really sorry. I tried looking for someone to potentially take my position, but no one has any feelers out right now.”

He waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it, Jane. I’ll manage. I’m really happy for you.”

She grinned. “Thank you, Hawkeye.” They said goodnight and Hawkeye turned to pick his clipboard up from the exam table, glancing back over the notes he’d written.   
Jane suddenly poked her head back into the room. “Oh, Hawkeye?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you have a friend named B.J. Hunnicutt?”

“Yes.”

Like a squirrel that has seen a nut, Jane became distracted. “What’s B.J. stand for?”

Hawkeye rolled his eyes. “He says his name is just B.J., but I don’t believe that,” he grumbled, recalling the entire week in Korea he’d spent telegramming people who’d been in contact with B.J. to ask them what the letters stood for.

“Who would name their kid B.J.?” she wondered. Hawkeye just shrugged helplessly, waiting for her to get back on track. “Anyways, he called for you today while you were busy. I told him you’d call him back as soon as you got the time.”

“Thank you. Have a good night.”

 

*

“Dad?” 

Hawkeye’s ears perked up, straining to make anything out in the silence of the house. The house was dark aside from the kitchen light that had been left on. “Must be asleep,” he muttered to himself, tossing his keys onto the counter and opening the refrigerator to get a bottle of soda. The phone was already in his hand and ringing by the time he sank into his favorite kitchen chair.

Noise came to life on the other end of the line. “Erin, no, put that—hello?”

“Beej!” Hawkeye felt better upon hearing his best friend’s voice. 

“Hey, Hawk! How was work? Your nurse said you were busy.”

“Busy, but good,” he managed to get out through a yawn. “I actually need to shower and go to bed, Beej. Just called to see what you needed.”

“Oh, right!” B.J. felt suppressed nervousness expand in his chest. It had been almost two weeks since he’d talked to Charles about the reunion. Potter and Radar had practically yelled for joy when B.J. told them about the reunion, and both agreed to be there in rain or shine. He half expected Hawkeye to completely reject the idea. “Well, Hawk, we’re planning a reunion.”

A few moments of stunned silence followed. Hawkeye swallowed hard, the lump in his throat not budging an inch. He coughed. “Who is ‘we?’” 

“Charles and I.”

At that, Hawkeye smirked in disbelief. “Charles is helping you plan a reunion? At which he would have to lay eyes on the both of us again?”

B.J. chuckled. He could hear the incredulous grin in Hawkeye’s voice. “Would you believe me if I told you the whole thing was his idea?”

“Ha! This is incredible!” Hawkeye pushed his hair off his forehead. No one was more surprised than he was that he was actually getting excited about a reunion. He had always thought that the subject of reunions was something just thrown around in Korea to keep up appearances. Truth be told, he had not even expected to see B.J. ever again. He tossed the idea around in his mind for a few more moments before another question stopped his musings in their tracks. “Who’s going to be there?”

B.J. took a hesitant breath and tried to be nonchalant. “Right now, just Potter, Radar, Charles, and I. If everyone accepts, the whole gang will be there: Potter, Radar, Charles, Father Mulcahy, Klinger, Margaret, you, and me. Family members allowed, of course.”

Hawkeye had stopped listening after he’d heard Margaret’s name. In Maine, it was easy to insulate himself against the memories. No one besides his father even knew about her, and he didn’t bring her up. But hearing B.J. say her name had brought his unconscious dam crashing down, allowing waves of memories kept at bay to flood his mind.

He didn’t know how long he was paralyzed in reverie. “Hawk?” B.J. said for the third time. 

“I’ll come.” The words were out of his mouth before he even had time to think about an answer.

“…You will?” 

“Yeah, Beej. I’ll be there. Just tell me when and where.”

*

“A reunion?”

Margaret stopped dead, letting the box she’d been carrying fall to the floor with a smack. Charles hissed and rushed forward to pick it back up. “There are breakables in there, Margaret, you know that! And yes, is the idea of a reunion so shocking to you?”

“Well…yes.” Margaret rubbed the back of her neck as Charles checked for broken bottles. “Everybody only promised to organize reunions back in Korea because they couldn’t admit to themselves that they’d most likely never see each other again.”

Charles raised his brows. “Yet, here we are. Father Mulcahy and Klinger have already confirmed that they will be there.”

Instead of the hollow ache that Margaret usually felt, sparks of excitement were beginning to fly. She was surprised at just how much she longed to go to this reunion, to see everyone again. But there was one thing that stuck out in her mind.

There would be no reunion without the presence of Hawkeye Pierce. It was a given that he’d be invited.

The sparks and the ache combined at the thought of meeting him again, creating a force that tingled under her skin. However bad or awkward it could turn out to be, she had to see him another time. She didn’t even care if they ended up not speaking or somehow arguing. Margaret had to see Hawkeye. The worst thing was that—now that she knew seeing him again was possible—there was nothing that was going to get in her way.

“I’d love to go.”

This time, it was Charles who nearly dropped the box. He had expected a fight from her, which would have culminated in either her reluctantly accepting or him threatening to use physical force to make her accept the invitation. “Really?”

She shrugged, trying to hide the boiling emotions causing her hands to shake a little. “Yeah. It sounds like it could be fun.”

Charles was speechless as she took the box back from him and disappeared into another inventory aisle. He turned to leave and, just as he was about to close the door behind him, he faintly heard her humming.

*

B.J. clambered through the front door after a long day at work, tossing his lab coat and briefcase onto the sofa and dashing into the kitchen. He dialed Charles’ number as quickly as he could.

“Hello?”

“Charles!” he shouted. He was about to burst from holding in the reunion news all day.

Charles sat up so fast that the book he’d been reading toppled to the floor. “Hunnicutt, I have wonderful news!”

“Me, too!”

Then, both men proceeded to shout simultaneously.

“Hawkeye said yes!”

“Margaret said yes!”


End file.
